Cold
by IreneHolmes
Summary: Stream-of-consciousness exercise about October 8. Slight movieverse, because I like how PJ showed the effects of the wraith-wound. Short oneshot.
1. October 7

My shoulder aches but there's nothing I can do about it. The pain burns me, wait take a breath and then fall backward into dark again. Warm hand on my forehead, can I maybe reach up to - ? No arm's frozen to my side like ice. Why? Can't... answer...

"Drink this." says the voice above my head. Shivers pass through my body, inside the cloaks they've wrapped me in I twist and retch coughing up the broth they gave me earlier onto the grass. Arms grip me, can't see them. Breathe. Breathe. Pain. NO. Knife twists like fire I try to scream but I can't all that comes out is soft air and black tears charring my face please LET ME GO I can't do this want to die but can't.

"Turn him over." my supporter murmurs, more hands grip the cocoon I lie in and prop me against something soft. Arms support my head and gently open my mouth GET AWAY FROM ME try to fight out but body's trapped by blankets so cold I shake as wind rattles leaves overhead. I am a leaf tossed by currents above my control. Soft voices whisper leaving bright marks in the grey of my world as I fight to resist the pull of sweet sleep even though it's all I want in the world, why can't I have it NO you're wrong don't give in to the dark but why not?

Mouth finally opens on its own now I can barely control my body I've already lost every other impulse perhaps infancy is like this or not I don't know don't care don't feel anymore. Hot drink down my throat like liquid fire bringing life death rebirth all in one, huge hand on my forehead again strokes the skin gently. "He's still cold." says the voice but I already knew that, if I could talk I'd have said how icy my heart turns with every second but lips are sealed shut as if frozen.

"Hold on." says another voice, a known familiar sound slicing through the ebony and apathy leaving semblances of clarity just be quiet, please, let me sleep, let me pass on...

NO.

I have to fight it. 


	2. October 10

He's sleeping. That's good, I suppose. He needs his strength. Ai, Ada, if only you were here now. I may be a Dunedain ranger, but I'm only firima at the end of the day. What do I know about curing these ills?

He twists in my arms and I feel his pain as if it were my own. I hesitate to injure his dignity with the shelter my body offers him, but he can barely walk. If Gandalf were here... no. I cannot let my mind dwell upon the past. Not now. Not with four hobbits so dependent on me.

I remember when I first saw him in the inn at Bree. His face surprised me, with eyes so bright and an intelligent expression. Not that his companions are any less wise than he, they simply carry their knowledge in different ways.

Samwise is glaring at me. I think he still secretly fears me, though I've done all I can to assuage his suspicions. He sits at the fire, tending it and making sure water boils constantly.

My injured charge trembles again, more violently then before. I glance down - his eyes are open but unseeing and he's struggling to rise from my grasp.

"Samwise!" I bark. "The athelas!"

Bless him, that hobbit has been his master's saving grace. He is beside me almost instantly, already pulling the freshly culled leaves from the bundle in his coat. In his hand is the kettle, water steaming inside it. I do what I can, bruising the leaves and casting them into the steaming liquid. Lifting the injured hobbit up, I try to let him breathe in the steam. He shakes and murmurs something under his breath - my heart freezes.

He's whispering in Black Speech. 


	3. October 14

Don't leave me.

It's funny, sir, if you don't mind my sayin' so. Not that you're hearin' me now, I understand. You're asleep just as sure as I'm awake. But I remember that day, back in the Shire, with the Elves, and how they told me not to leave you. I laughed at them, Mr. Frodo - was that wrong? I knew I'd stick with you if you went all the way to the Moon.

I never thought you'd be the one doin' the leaving.

Strider, now, he says when we get to Rivendell you'll be right as rain quick enough. I don't trust him - what's to keep him from takin' us into the woods and letting us die? Or stealin' the Ring? He says he won't, but you never know.

Please, Mr. Frodo, just lie still. I know you're hurtin' something fierce now, but the way you fight every time we try to give you some tea or a biscuit sort of tears my heart up. I remember when I was a lad my sister got the summer fever an' was sick for weeks - she couldn't hardly tell who was family an' who was her nightmares. She looked like you do, her face all pale and her eyes so far rolled back all you can see is white when you look at 'em.

I'm the only one awake now, I hope you don't mind my talking to you. Somehow it just feels right, you know? Like maybe you won't slip away if I just keep sayin' things.

Shh, don't cry. It's not even cryin' anymore, it's like the sound Rosie's dog made when her brother accidentally shot it with his bow and arrow. Like you're tryin' to cry and breathe at the same time. And somewhere far away, I can hear somethin' answer back.

Mr. Frodo, don't leave me. Please. If you go I'm stuck with Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and that Strider, an' I don't fancy them for company, if you take my meaning. All I need is another word about food or water or movin' along and I'll snap like last year's grapevines. You're the only one as can stop it.

You're tryin' to sit up now, and it sort of makes me hurt inside. I'm holdin' you careful like Strider showed, watchin' out for your shoulder, but you're fightin' me all the way. You're shakin' like a dead leaf too - lie still and I can get you some water.

All of a sudden I feel like this is goin' to happen again. Maybe soon, maybe not. All I know is when it happens I'll be there to help you through.


End file.
